


Division

by strawberriesandtophats



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Duelling, Kissing, M/M, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:15:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22150897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriesandtophats/pseuds/strawberriesandtophats
Summary: In which the courtiers are alarmed, Louis is entertained and Armand promises to try not to get assassinated overnight.
Relationships: Louis XIII de France/Armand Jean du Plessis de Richelieu
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	Division

**Author's Note:**

> For Ciel!
> 
> Happy holidays!

It was on nights like this one that most courtiers wished that they had made different decisions in life that would have led to them never even coming to Paris, not to mention even stepping into the Louvre.

Having Richelieu striding past them, red silk sweeping the floor as he approached the king. The look on the Cardinal’s face made several courtiers wish that they’d been born pig-farmers a hundred years back just if that meant getting away from the look on his face.

Most of them wanted to step back and glanced at each other or kept their gazes on the floor, so that they did not see the softening of Richelieu’s expression to something that did not look like murderous rage in the candlelight.

The Cardinal stood beside the king, whispering in a soft voice that did not carry. The smile on the king’s face was a secretive one, his eyes aglow.

Richelieu was speaking fast, no blush on his cheeks as he bowed his head just a faction as the king leaned in to listen. His eyes were alive with mirth, making gestures to describe what must have been one of his Red Guards having quite the adventure.

The smile on the Cardinal’s face as he spotted the courtiers watching him was the feral smile of a cunning cat out for the hunt, his red robes the color of blood.

The king laughed, a true laugh like the clear ringing of bells in the air instead of the polite laugh of someone trained to default to being polite to others.

A moment of peace in a place swirling with lies and betrayals.

“The innkeeper sent the pots-and-pans girl outside to confront a Red Guard?” Louis asked later, when he was own rooms with Richelieu at his side. “Because he thought that the Red Guard should be inside the inn buying food and beer instead of helping muck out the stables?”

“Debois is built like a man who’s worked his whole life as a butcher,” Richelieu explained. “As wide as he is tall. I once saw him throw a goat at a Musketeer, as a warning, because that idiot Musketeer was trying to challenge him to a duel.

“And the pots-and-pans girl was the only one brave enough to head outside to speak to Debois?” Louis asked, pulling at his sleeve as if wishing that it would transform into a nightshirt.

“Indeed,” Richelieu said, looking pleased with himself. “Eleven years old and ready to fight the world. Brought him inside by the back door, demanded that he clean his hands before eating and then shoved a large bowl of soup in front of him as soon as he sat down.”

“I was like that, at her age,” Louis mused.

“You’ve never stopped being like that, Sire,” Richelieu stated as Louis wandered over to his bed.

Louis gave him a look.

“She thought he was in the stables to steal her favorite pony,” Richelieu continued. “And had armed herself with a big iron pan.”

“I hope that Debois surrendered immediately?” Louis asked, raising an eyebrow. “Surely he did not fight a small child?”

“He did,” Richelieu said. “You’d have accepted her proposition to duel you.”

“And I’d have won,” Louis said. “But I’d be impressed by any eleven-year-old who challenged the King of France to a duel after accusing him of theft.”

“Hm,” Richelieu said. “I’m sure she’d be happy to duel you, your majesty.”

“Perhaps that girl is going to be running Paris’s best inn one day,” Louis continued, closing his heavy eyes for a moment.

“That might very well be the case,” Richelieu supplied as Louis found his nightshirt. Soon there would be servants in the hallways and duties to attend to, so Richelieu stepped closer to Louis before footsteps could be heard outside the bedroom.

“Good night,” Louis said, gripping Richelieu’s jaw and kissing him. “Try not to get assassinated in your sleep.”

“I’ll do my best,” Richelieu said after he’d broken the kiss, hearing the shuffle of cloth and voices in the distance. “Good night, your majesty.”

He stepped back, bowing.

And then he turned around and left in a swirl of red cloth.


End file.
